


Free w/your mats: a literal fix-it fic

by Left_Handed_Darkness



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Comfort, Eva Sarkhoff deserved better so here's a tragic NPC having a happily ever after, Fix-It, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Gratuitous necromancy, Mild Gore, Offscreen Animal Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 23:18:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15011573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Left_Handed_Darkness/pseuds/Left_Handed_Darkness
Summary: Saviéran Ledrassi - a wandering scholar, necromancer, and solver of problems - encounters the remains of a red dragon nest that was plundered by adventurers. Needless to say, he took offence to that.





	Free w/your mats: a literal fix-it fic

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by tumblr user Thyrell's viral post about necromancers being really late healers, and my own childhood memories of being disappointed with all the stories in which the dragon dies.

“How  _thoughtless_.”

 Saviéran stared at the small trail of devastation in the clearing. The mossy ground was stained with blood, and small patches of vegetation still smouldered with fading embers. Small, chubby corpses littered the ground by the nest; all broken wings and bloodied hides, the largest of them barely the size of cat.

 Analytical blue eyes darted across the scene; taking in the gouges in the nearby trees, the clean slashes through the little corpses, and the heavy footprints in the mud. It was clear what had happened there. He crouched down at the edge of the nest, carefully picking up one of the little ruby corpses with all the care he would have given the whelpling in life.

 “It’s senseless. There’s no reason for it.”

 The shade following him leant over his shoulder, ghostly strands of hair falling out of a scruffily made chignon. Despite her ethereal form, she still clung to her skirt, habitually keeping the hem an inch above the dirt and the blood.

 “No, there’s not. In the past I might have called it greed, or foolishness, but now…” She shook her head. “I gave up trying to understand these things a long time ago.”

 “I know, Eva. And I could never blame you for that.”

 She stumbled, caught off balance by something unseen. Surprise crossed her transparent features, followed by a sad smile.

 “They’re still here. They know that something’s changed, but I don’t think they know what. And-” she paused again, taking a moment to steady her footing, “-they’re rather heavy.”

 Saviéran looked up at her, carefully focusing the necromantic forces under his command until he could see the faint outline of the little dragons. They perched on Eva, as if the ghost was a convenient climbing post - one on her shoulder, whilst another clung to her back. A chubby little whelp sat on her head, tousling her hair and further freeing it from the already messy updo.

 In spite of the carnage, Eva found herself laughing at the little dragons. Saviéran smiled - she had every reason not to, but to see her  _smile_  gave him hope. She’d been dealt the worst hand that life had to offer, and death had been as equally callous. But that laughter suggested that there was a kinder future despite it all.

 “Perhaps things can change again.” He murmured, peering back at the corpses once again. Perhaps for the better.

* * *

 It had taken a while to collect what remained of the little red whelps. Given that they’d been put to the  _sword_  rather than bludgeoned or blasted with the arcane, most of them were in reasonably decent condition. Fresh, too; they couldn’t have been there more than a day.

 Saviéran had considered trying to track down the culprit, but he was no ranger - and even if he knew what trails to follow, he wasn’t quite certain what he’d do. Not yet, anyway. Besides, he wasn’t certain that it was  _his_  message that needed to be delivered.

After all, he was not the victim here; and he’d taken it upon himself to give a voice to the voiceless.

 So instead, he found himself piecing the little dragons back together again. They were delicate things, much smaller than he was used to working with and far more fragile. Yet instead of being dissuaded, he took the matter as a challenge; nudging organs back into place with a deft hand, and with equal care he aligned joints, muscle, blood vessels and nervous tissue.

 Even if they’d never be truly the same, he considered it a matter of care and respect that he tried his best to keep his work tidy and free of unsightly scars. Every ligature was tidy and tucked beneath crimson scales, and all caution had been taken to ensure that he’d not left anything spare.

 “Eva?” He called out to his companion, who had spent her time singing old nursery rhymes to the whelp-shades. She never wandered far, but neither did she watch - there were too many visceral memories for her to be comfortable with the bloodier aspects of his craft.

 He understood, in the way only a survivor could.

 “Have you finished?”

 “Yes, all I need is the rest of them.”

 She walked back into the clearing, followed by the small flock of ghostly dragons and perching by his side. One of them was cradled in her arms - the same on that had liberated her hair from its usual style. Yet in spite of their curiosity towards the ghost, a few of them had caught a familiar scent on the wind.

 Home.

 The necromancer reached out with bloodied fingers, drawing shadowy runes around each of the bodies. Focusing, he drew lines of power from the first corpse, reaching out with arcane senses to find a match amongst the ghosts.

 The first soul had goofy proportions - both in body and spirit. Its legs were too short and its tail was too long, yet its scrappy little wings appeared to bear it aloft regardless. It plopped down from Eva’s shoulder into Saviéran’s lap - but without breaking concentration, he tied silvery lines of power between the dragon and its inert form.

 It didn’t show many sign of complained as he wove the two together, simply waddling further towards its body whilst happily chasing his deft fingers. Slowly but surely, spirit and flesh became one, and the little beast took the first breaths of a new unlife.

 The second was a dozier fellow, simply content to lie next to its body as Saviéran bound it back into its body. In the end, he had to pick it up by the scruff of its neck and slowly ease it back in. Predictably, this one took the opportunity to fall right back to sleep barely moments after reanimation.

 He smiled, tickling the delicate creature under the chin.

 Finally, he plopped the chubbiest back into its body - the little spirit was so eager to join its siblings, that it practically tried to wiggle back into its own skin whilst he bound the two together. This one was the easiest of the three, and it awoke chirping.

* * *

 “You’re right, they are quite heavy.” Saviéran exclaimed as one of the whelps fluttered out of the saddlebag it had been using as a nest, and landed on his head. He’d emphasised the importance of them taking it easy over the first few days, whilst they settled into their new condition. The whelps had taken this as a permission to use him - and his horse - as a new an exciting climbing frame as much as a mode of transportation.

 Eva simply chuckled, content to watch her friend have his turn as the designated whelp-perch for the trip. Saviéran on the other hand was less than keen on the idea, trying not to flinch  _too_  much whenever one made a particularly clumsy landing. Every so often, he’d scoop one of the whelps off of his person, and carefully place the little creatures into a bag or onto the skeletal horse iteself.

 The horse didn’t mind. It wasn’t his brightest creation, really.

 “Don’t worry, I doubt they’re going to mistake you for their lunch - more likely their mother.”

 “Well I’m not too worried about that, it’s… you know. They’re just heavy enough to be a little bit shocking if they cling to me so suddenly.”

 “Hmm…” Eva frowned, pondering over the matter as she rode behind him. A whelp wriggled in a bag where her leg would have rested were she corporeal, and she found herself staring at the strange phenomenon for a minute.

 “Dragons are intelligent, maybe you could teach them how to stay put? Dogs are trained using treats to encourage good behaviour.”

 “That’s a point, though I’d feel a little bit patronising about it. Still, it’s better than any other plan we have.”

 “Or maybe we could try talking to them like-”

 Eva was cut off by a quick gesture from the necromancer.  _Caution_ , he signalled, then pointed towards a break in the woods.

 Straight ahead lay a beaten dirt path, leading towards a cluster of wooden cottages. It looked sleepy enough, and through a break in the trees he could make out small wheat fields and an orchard. But that was not what caught his attention.

 On the outskirts of the village, Saviéran could spy a small camp. It was a cluster of three tents - each large enough to contain two or three people each - surrounding a small campfire. And on the ground lay a cluster of stolen eggs.

 And the head of a red dragon.

 The camp wasn’t unattended. A stout golden-haired dwarf sat on a crate by the eggs, rifle in hand; whilst one of his companions, a powerfully built human, sharpened a greatsword nearby.

 The whelps had gone still and alert. The chubbiest hissed, whilst the rest simply stared at the man who had taken their lives the first time. Saviéran issued a silent command, a slight ripple within the shadowlands that prompted them to remain still and  _hidden_  until he called.

 Because now, he’d found those dragonslayers.

**Author's Note:**

> And now I'm thinking of all those "go to ____ and kill 10 mobs" quests I've done. I'm not crying, you're crying.


End file.
